


I'll Be Your Omega

by irrevocably-johnlocked (AurielleDawn)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: But it's all sex and silliness, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Omegaverse, One Shot, Sort of because these two idiots still haven't defined it, and a little angst, role-play, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-25
Updated: 2014-03-25
Packaged: 2018-01-16 23:14:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1365277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AurielleDawn/pseuds/irrevocably-johnlocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock might possibly have burst into laughter the last time they role-played Omegaverse, and he thinks John deserves a redo.  </p>
<p>***</p>
<p>My heat started early.  I need you.  Now, now, now.  Please.  Please come home.  SH</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Be Your Omega

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Games We Play](https://archiveofourown.org/works/361290) by [AnonyMouseHatesCaptcha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonyMouseHatesCaptcha/pseuds/AnonyMouseHatesCaptcha). 



> Which made me think:
> 
> What if Sherlock decided to really take it seriously next time?
> 
>  
> 
> Beta’d by the lovely archipelagoarchaea.

John’s phone vibrates as he’s nodding his thanks to the bank teller and pocketing his wallet. He only has a couple more errands to run, and Sherlock has probably thought of some obscure but immediate need that will require a trip across town. Which, of course John will be expected to make immediately. He sighs and pulls his phone out as he exits the bank. 

And stops dead when he sees the text.

_My heat started early. I need you. Now, now, now. Please. Please come home. SH_

Embarrassingly, he feels himself harden immediately, his pulse jumping as he begins to pant slightly. Jesus fucking Christ.

_On my way. There soon,_

The response is immediate.

_Hurry. Please. I need you inside me. SH_

John smiles, affection and arousal twin points of heat in his body.

_I will, baby. I’m coming. I’ll take care of you._

He pauses in the act of putting his phone away, sending one last text.

_Don’t you dare put anything in that gorgeous arse before I get there. I’ll smell it on you. Mine only. Understood?_

The answer again is immediate.

_Yes, yes. Yours. Yours, John. You’re what I need. Please. I need my Alpha. SH_

John would laugh at the wanton begging – and the incongruity of Sherlock continuing to sign his texts even while writhing in heat, but then Sherlock _would_ – if he weren’t already hard enough to make walking uncomfortable. He tucks his hands in the pockets of his coat, shifting in a way he hopes is unnoticeable as he increases his pace, his mind fabricating shamefully filthy scenarios of what he could do with the frankly gorgeous Omega waiting for him at home.

***

John starts tugging his coat off the moment he walks through the door at Baker Street, taking the steps two at a time and dropping the coat on the landing before throwing open the door to 221B. The sight that greets him steals his breath and all coherent thought with it. Sherlock Holmes is entirely nude, fully erect, spread out on the couch, and positively _writhing._ His eyes snap open as he turns to John and he looks wrecked and desperate: pupils blown, panting unevenly. He gasps his mate’s name before absolutely launching himself across the few feet separating them, pinning John to the door and rubbing his gorgeous, pale, nude body along John’s clothed one, burying his face in his Alpha’s neck and panting _please, please, please, please, please._

“Jesus fucking Christ!”

Through his lust-fueled haze John dimly realizes that (a) he said that out loud, and (b) he needs to pull it together if he wants to enjoy the full benefit of this scenario. 

He grabs the other man by his waist and reverses their positions, pinning Sherlock against the door and leaning into him. The action is rough and possessive, but John’s voice is gentle. “It’s alright, baby. I’ll take care of you. I’ve got what you need.” He runs a hand soothingly over taut, pale skin and is rewarded with trembling and wide, pale eyes: bright and unfocused. 

And _God_ that’s gorgeous. Sherlock is unbelievably beautiful like this. 

His other hand tangles in dark curls, pulling back to expose that long column of pale neck. Sherlock groans as John nuzzles his pulse point, inhaling deeply, scenting him. John closes his eyes and lets himself get lost in it, murmuring words against his mate’s skin, as he nuzzles and mouths and nips at his mate’s pulse. “Could smell you from the front door. Made my mouth water, and God, you smell good. Fuck, you’re gorgeous like this, when you’re coming apart, when you need me. Can’t wait to sink my cock into you, feel you come undone around me.”

Sherlock makes a desperate sound in his throat and pulls John far enough away to capture his mouth. They tangle together, limbs and tongues, stumbling away from the door and towards the bedroom, hands scrabbling at John’s clothing. He’s nude by the time they reach the bedroom, although they’ve both earned some bruises crashing into worktops and chairs and tables along the way. 

John pushes Sherlock down on the bed, crawling over him as he pulls himself backward. When they reach the center of the bed, Sherlock pulls him down again and captures his mouth as he settles between those long, pale legs. Sherlock’s mouth is urgent and desperate, and he breathes words between them. “Please. Please, John. I need you. I’m so wet for you. I’m ready. Please, I can’t bear another moment without your cock inside me.” 

And _God_ that voice, husky and begging, sounds like sin, and John thinks he could come from that alone. He dips down and nuzzles Sherlock’s neck again. “Alright, baby, alright. You don’t have to wait any longer. I need you, too. Fuck, I need to be inside you.” 

He shifts to pull Sherlock’s leg up over his arm, then runs a hand along the gorgeous swell of his arse and into his cleft, feeling his slick hole already stretched and ready for him. And if he thought he couldn’t get any harder, oh had he been wrong. He uses his fingers to be sure, two and then three, and Sherlock is writhing and panting beneath him, another long string of _please, please, please, John, please_ leaving his lips. 

He pulls his fingers away and shifts to line himself up, leaning down to whisper above his Omega’s beautiful flushed mouth. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to knot me. Please, John, I need it.” 

“Fuck, yes.” 

John slides into Sherlock’s body, causing them both to gasp. He leans back and grabs Sherlock’s hips, angling them to hit just the right spot with each thrust. Sherlock moans obscenely, wrapping his legs around John’s waist and pulling him closer, hands gripping John’s forearms. 

John loves Sherlock like this: out of control, coming apart around him. His head is thrown back, his eyes heavy-lidded, a flush coloring his chest and neck as he trembles and clenches around John’s body. He whispers encouragement, demands _harder, more,_ and John complies. John leans forward and shifts so he’s braced on his hands, giving more power to his thrusts. Sherlock braces one hand against the headboard to give him more resistance and threads the other through John’s hair, tugging him down until they’re a breath away, eyes locked.

“I want you to breed me.” The words send a shock through John, and he can see Sherlock cataloguing his response before he continues, voice dark and sinful, slightly breathless. “I want you to breed me, fill me with your seed, make something that’s both of us, something of you I can carry inside of me.” 

He closes his eyes, fighting for control. “Jesus Christ, Sherlock. Fucking _yes_.” 

He’s dangerously close now, and he has to slow down a bit, to hold himself back. He leans down to capture Sherlock’s mouth, and it starts out desperate but then softens, and he curves an arm behind Sherlock’s shoulder, tangling a hand in the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“I’m going to come in you. Fill you full of my seed. Is that what you want?”

“Yes.” 

It’s a whisper, desperate-sounding, and John smiles. “Yeah, it is. But you first, love. You’re gonna come for me, yeah?”

“Yes. _Please_.”

He moves a hand to where Sherlock is hard between them, stroking his length and watching him writhe. He’s close; John can tell. It won’t take much to push him over the edge. He leans in and whispers against Sherlock’s ear. 

“Come for me, love. Come for me, and I’ll knot you until you’re bursting with me, and when it’s over we’ll start again, and I’ll fuck you over and over and over, come inside you again and again until your heat recedes. Because you’re _mine_.” 

“Yes…Yours…Yes…Please.” He’s desperate, caught right on that razor’s edge. 

John quickens the pace of his hand and drags his lips downward. When his teeth close over the Omega’s fluttering pulse, Sherlock cries out and comes in hot waves between their bodies. And _Jesus_ the sight of him, the sound of his name in that voice, on those gorgeous lips, and John is coming, too. He drops his hand to pin Sherlock in place as he takes what he needs, pumping into him, forehead pressed against a pale shoulder. 

They stay that way for long moments, Sherlock’s arms coming up to wrap around him. When he finally pulls out they both shudder, and John stays draped across Sherlock’s body until his head clears.

When he’s sure his legs will support him, John pulls away from his still-flushed flatmate (boyfriend? lover?) and stumbles to the bathroom for a wet flannel. He cleans himself up, and then crawls back onto the bed. Sherlock turns to capture his mouth and cards a hand through his hair as John gently wipes the other man down. John tosses the flannel aside and flops down on the bed, Sherlock immediately curling into his side, head tucked under John’s arm and resting on his shoulder. 

“Thanks for that.” His words are a little breathless, their chests still rising and falling from the exertion. “It was…Jesus Christ, Sherlock. That was amazing.”

Sherlock glances up at him and smiles, clearly pleased and a bit bashful. “Thought I owed you a better go after my unprofessional behavior last time.”

John giggles, pulling Sherlock closer against him. “Well, you deserve an Oscar for this one. That was bloody brilliant.”

“I just needed to find my inspiration.”

“Which was?”

“How desperately I needed you to come home and fuck me.” 

John laughs again, and Sherlock chuckles softly. 

A peaceful quiet descends, their breaths deepening and heart rates returning to a normal pace. John runs his hand through Sherlock’s hair, and Sherlock traces idle patterns on his chest and abdomen. John loves these quiet moments: Sherlock languorous and sated, resting against him. He’s so hard to hold on to, so rarely still. John loves chasing after Sherlock, no doubt about that. Loves all the mad, frenetic brilliance, and even the stroppy fits. He loves their inappropriate laughter and adrenaline-fueled shagging when they’re high off a case and a brush with death. But God he loves these rare moments, when he can pull Sherlock close and just hold him. 

It’s Sherlock who breaks the silence, tilting his face up to look at John.

“That was… surprisingly tender.”

John feels his cheeks warm and looks away. “It’s not just the heat I like, it’s the… the interdependence.”

Sherlock is quiet for a moment. 

“You like the idea of my needing you. Not just sexually, but for protection and comfort. As a mate.” 

John nods a bit, head still turned away. “It’s a nice fantasy.”

He feels Sherlock shift until he’s up on one elbow looking down at him, and John finally turns to meet his gaze. 

The bright blue-grey eyes are intense, but his voice is soft. “I do need you, John Watson. Never doubt that.” 

John searches his face for a moment, warmth blooming in his chest. He feels himself smile, and Sherlock gives him an answering grin that morphs into a sardonic smirk.

“Even if I can’t bear your pups.”

“Well.” John pulls him down so they’re resting comfortably again, hoping Sherlock might fall asleep with him this time. “You can’t have everything.”

***

It’s long moments later, when John is just drifting off to sleep, that Sherlock’s voice comes again. 

“Next time, can I be the Alpha?”


End file.
